


Woke me from a long sleep

by Skoll



Category: Inception (2010), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: College, Crossover, Established Relationship, F/M, High School, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Teenagers, ridiculous fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:13:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skoll/pseuds/Skoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rodney wakes up from the long dream, the man who had been in charge of monitoring him pushes a pair of blocky glasses up his nose and says, "Please, Mister McKay. Be rational. You honestly believe that the aliens were part of the real world, and this is the dream?" - In which the entire Atlantis expedition was an experiment in dreaming technology, and Rodney and John are none too pleased about it.  SGA/Inception crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Putting this night down to bed

**Author's Note:**

> This story only exists because my beta enabled me horribly when I told her I might just have an idea, and then essentially bribed me into writing the first five pages or so. So this one's for her; if you enjoy the story, then it's thanks to my beta, and if you think it's the most ridiculous thing you've ever read, then it's all her fault. -grins-

When Rodney wakes up from the long dream, the man who had been in charge of monitoring him pushes a pair of blocky glasses up his nose and says, "Please, Mister McKay. Be rational. You honestly believe that the aliens were part of the real world, and this is the dream?" He says Mister McKay, even, because Doctor no longer applies—because half the physics Rodney ever learned were false, altered to allow for the existence of stargates and wormholes and alien races—because Rodney is fourteen years old with the mind of a forty-one year old man with a caffeine addiction, and his parents are in the waiting room.

“Alright," he says, and hates, furiously hates the people that would do this to him, people who would tear his world apart—hates them with all the emotion of the teenager he apparently still is, and all the concentration of the scientist he was. "I can accept that I was dreaming. Let me go now."

It's alright. He has time to grow up again, to relearn the rules—he's fourteen now, he keeps forgetting that—and use those rules against them. He knew wormhole physics inside out once. It won't take him very long to learn how to use dreams, instead.

Fourteen years old again, Rodney McKay makes silent plans to be the best thief, the best nuisance, the best menace that dreams can ever make him. It's only fair, after all.

…

"John!"

It's his father's voice, coming through the door. That alone is something John can't accept yet. His father, who is standing on the other side of John's locked door impatiently, is the same man whose funeral John remembers. He remembers the awkward silence of it, of trying to connect with his family after years of estrangement, of having nothing to say to the man who raised him, of feeling cramped and out of place in the expected black suit. John remembers seeing his father buried, and now here he is, insisting John stop acting like a child and come out to face him. Then again, John remembers his forty-third birthday, so what the hell.

John is laying on his bed. He feels gawky, too tall and too thin, like a fucking teenager all over again. It's what he is, now—just sixteen, too young to know his own body in the way he does, too young for anything—but John feels like it shouldn't be. He remembers his own hands, the way they held a gun and the way they steered airplanes and helicopters and fucking puddlejumpers that never existed and never will, the way they shook when Rodney took him apart with those quiet, insistent touches. He remembers Rodney, remembers love and sex and feeling like all of him was tangled up in another person, and now he can't even know that that person exists. Hell, he remembers how it feels to kill a man.

All of these memories, crammed inside a sixteen year old body that is nowhere near strong enough to contain them, and no one can take them away. What bothers John most is that anyone would try, except that that's a fucking lie—what bothers John most is that he has them in the first place.

"John," his father says, through the door. "Come downstairs, please."

John can't even say anything. What's he supposed to say to a dead man who's still walking? Jesus, what is he supposed to do now?

He knows what he wants. He wants to tear something apart with his bare hands, these hands too young and too soft to ever manage something like that. He wants to find Rodney McKay and Elizabeth Weir and Teyla and Ronon, to make sure his people are all right. He wants to go back to his fucking city, the one that never existed—and if he can't he wants to burn another city down in its place, wants to make the fuckers who did this understand what they played with. He wants to find Rodney and kiss him and touch him and fuck him until he knows that Rodney will still be breathing when he looks away. Johns knows what he wants. He just doesn't know how much of it he can let himself do.

Okay. Okay, John needs to find Rodney. That has to come first. He's got a funny feeling that Rodney will know what to do—Rodney always has a plan, or at least a loudly voiced opinion, and John never knew how much he fucking needed that until it was taken away. That much, John can do. He just needs to find Rodney.

He stands, crosses the bedroom that feels smaller than he remembers it being, and opens his door. His father, on the other side, looks surprised—looks like he was getting ready to wait out a full teenaged sulk. His father doesn't know what he's dealing with, not yet.

"Look," John says, and at least his voice is alright, at least it's settled into the same range John remembers it being, even if it's softer than he remembers, "I need to get to Canada."

There, John thinks, and smiles what Elizabeth calls his charming the natives smile. It's something, at least.

…

"Oh," the boy in the doorstep says, flatly, and it's so familiar, so very expected, that John finally understands that this kid is Rodney.

He didn't think about it. He knew, obviously, that Rodney was about two years younger than him—he's not that shitty of a friend, to not notice something like birthdays. He just never considered what that would mean out here, in what is apparently the real world. In John's mind, Rodney was still forty-one, ever the broad-shouldered academic with the huge presence, with his hairline retreating back across his forehead and a coffee cup never far away. This Rodney is thin and gangly, with too much curly blond hair and honest to god braces.

Rodney's eyes are the same, though—still penetrating, still impossibly blue—and they search John like he's the fucking second coming, like he's something impossible. "Oh," Rodney says again, and leans against his door frame like he needs something to hold himself up. "Sheppard. You're real."

"You're fourteen," John blurts. He really, really can't help it.

“Excuse me!" Rodney says, and draws himself up to his full height. Somehow the gesture misses intimidating by the same degree it always did with John, and seems ridiculously endearing. "I'm busy with the realization that you exist, and that I didn't waste five years of my apparently imaginary life on a figment of my own drugged mind, and that even though they warped the laws of physics your hair is still just as improbable as ever, and all you can say is—"

John really can't help the way he kisses Rodney either. It's instinctive, after so long with the man—time-honored, and the only real way to cut Rodney off in the middle of a rant. It also does a beautiful job of proving John's point. His teeth clink against Rodney's braces, and Rodney's tongue is still small enough that it just feels weird.

"Oh," Rodney says, in a completely different way, when John pulls back. "Well, yes, the fact that I'm fourteen is hardly going to be expedient to our sex life."

That sentence is so very Rodney, so quintessential of John's scientist, that it finally hits John that, yeah, Rodney exists. Rodney is real, and Rodney remembers, and Jesus Christ but John has never wanted to kiss an awkward fourteen year old so much in his life. "We can wait a few years, buddy," he says, absently, and then grabs Rodney and hugs him one handed, because Rodney is warm and alive and that's more than enough.

"Much as I'm enjoying this, Sheppard," Rodney says into the crook of his shoulder some moments later, his own arms wrapped around John's waist, "my parents are going to be wondering why there is a stranger in their driveway molesting their son if this continues."

They let each other go, slowly. John doesn't miss the wistful look in Rodney's eyes, like he's exactly as happy as John is that they can still be like this and exactly as unhappy about the enforced waiting period. "So," John says.

"I don't think anything in Pegasus was nearly as terrifying as the idea of you meeting my parents," Rodney says, stepping away from the door frame. When John doesn't move, Rodney rolls his eyes and says, "That means come inside, Sheppard, or has being teenaged again in some way injured your brain?" He actually looks somewhat frightened by that possibility, which is enough to make John laugh and mess up his hair and walk inside, feeling like for once in his life the universe might actually like him.

…

Rodney has to confess to feeling some teenaged glee at the expressions on his parents' faces after their mangled attempt at an explanation.

"So," his mother says, looking first at John, and then at their loosely linked fingers, and then at Rodney. "I'm supposed to believe that you two—knew each other, inside this dream Meredith took part in?" The way his mother obviously shies away from the idea of Rodney and sex in the same sentence is actually far more amusing to Rodney than it should be. Rodney is somewhat tempted to vindicate the fourteen year old he remembers being by actually screaming the words I like gay sex, but thinks John, with his impossible hair and effortless slump and casual smirk, actually does a better job of projecting that fact with his mere presence than Rodney ever could.

"Yes, ma'am," John says, his voice heavier with Texan drawl than Rodney remembers it being on Atlantis. "Rodney and I served together."

"You were in the military?" Rodney's father asks Rodney, voice sharp, sitting up straighter in his seat, as though Rodney is planning to run off and get shot at again right this moment. While the vast majority of Rodney's time with John in his other life actually involved being shot at at unpredictable moments, he doesn't think even John's luck could bring bullets anywhere near them here.

"I was an astrophysicist who was handed a gun by cavalier idiots," Rodney snaps, just to see the way John grins at being indirectly insulted. It makes him think their old banter will fall back into place the moment they're alone—he can see John building up his retort already. Then, for the sake of technical correctness, Rodney tells his father, "I was a scientist contracting with the US military. Sheppard was in the Air Force."

"Oh," his father says, weakly. He and Rodney's mother exchange glances, which seem to say, this was not covered in the parenting booklet his therapist advised us to glance over. John squeezes Rodney's fingers once, not in comfort but as a warning that much more of this will induce hysterical laughter.

"So, John," his mother says, without any attempt at segue, "what did you say your father does?"

"Are you building up to asking about his intentions?" Rodney asks, horror struck by the very idea.

"Well—" his mother says, even as his father starts to say, "You are very young, Meredith—"

Rodney looks up at John and tries to communicate how utterly despairing he is of the people who provided his genetic code. The Colonel—just Sheppard, now, Rodney has to remember that—isn't communicating anything but strangled laughter in return.

"My life," Rodney says, and closes his eyes, hoping that this will no longer be happening when he opens them.

…

Rodney and John wind up in a playground together, of all places. It's the first time they've been alone since John showed up on Rodney's doorstep. John only has a few more days before his father is going to send someone to bring him back—that was the deal, a week to do what John wants in return for taking part in a normal life when he gets back home. John doesn't want to be in Texas, mostly because it isn't Atlantis, but is willing to live there a while if it means his father will let him fly up and see Rodney sometimes. Still, Rodney's parents are like vultures, trying to make sure John doesn't take advantage of their kid. John appreciates the sentiment, he really does, but that approach wastes valuable time he and Rodney could be spending together, and Rodney is the last person in the world that John would ever hurt anyway. Plus, the fact that Rodney's parents let them go to a playground together, as if that was anything Rodney would be interested in, kind of makes John realize just how little Rodney's parents know their son now.

Either way, they sit on swings in the playground together and Rodney talks, hands flailing, glaring down any small child who dares approach the swings they're sitting on, and John listens.

“It was an experiment in unreality,” Rodney says. “Supposedly they were testing how bizarre a dream world could become without its subjects rejecting the dream.”

That clicks into place with John. “So, alien planets and puddlejumpers?” he says, tilting his head back to look at the sun. The strange thing is that he doesn't recognize this sun anymore.

“And wormholes,” Rodney agrees, sounding like even he's confused about whether that makes him angry or sad. “I'm not sure if the physical distance between the dreamers was part of the test as well, but considering the fact that you were in Texas while I was here, it's entirely probable that distance was a variable as well. I suppose I'd thought that the people who played with our minds would have been intelligent enough to follow proper scientific protocol and eliminate extraneous variables, but clearly that was too much to even hope for.”

“You're really angry about this, aren't you?” John says, kicking away from the sand beneath him a little.

“What clued you in, Colonel?” Rodney snaps, and then falls silent when he realizes what he's said. It's instinct, using his title like that, but it still fucking stings John to be a civilian again, stripped of everything he fought for. Those people conducting the test, whoever they were, took John's entire adult life and made it a joke, made it something that had never happened, and just left him like that. An entire lifetime in forty-seven hours of dreaming—John can't even pretend that he knows how that works. He just knows he woke up in his doctor's office, where he'd gone almost thirty years before for a physical, and found out he'd been some sort of lab rat. Yeah. He can understand why Rodney's angry.

“Okay,” John says, slowly, thinking things over. “Okay. What do we do?”

“We use their technology against them,” Rodney says. John looks at him, really looks, and knows from the focus in Rodney's blue eyes that he has a plan.

On that playground, with his hands wild and never quite still, Rodney paints a picture of their future, a joint future where they take dream sharing technology and abuse it so that no one can pretend it's some harmless thing, and use it to make the connections they'll need to find the bastards who put them through this, and learn it inside and out until no one else can ever use it against them, until they can control what parts of their lives will be dreams. John pictures that future and can see it, can see the two of them playing a corrupt system against itself. They never played by the rules, anyway.

“It'll be dangerous,” Rodney says when he's finished explaining. Coming from any other fourteen year old, that wouldn't mean anything, but John knows that Rodney understands danger. He knows Rodney has a healthy sense of self preservation to top a fear of pain and injury, knows from experience how much Rodney hates danger. The fact that Rodney warns John so easily, so casually, just shows John exactly how serious Rodney is about the entire thing.

“McKay,” John says, simply, in the same tone he's used on countless first contact missions and in countless firefights. He's hardly going to shy away from danger, after all.

“Yes, yes, alright,” Rodney says, but the flatness of his tone is belied by the way he can't help but smile. “I never thought I would actually be enthusiastic about a life of crime.”

“Always an exciting new day,” John says, deadpan, and Rodney laughs.


	2. Hoping you'd walk through the door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this chapter, please remember that it is almost scientifically proven that fics like this one must have at least one chapter of ridiculous high school antics. This is that chapter. Also, I'm a little bit out of practice at writing vanilla porn, but my beta assures me it's still good, so. This chapter is teenaged boys, and fluff, and porn, and very little plot. You're welcome. :P

The thing John and Rodney didn't consider, when they were making their elaborate plan for the future, was that somewhere between the day on the playground and their getting into dream crime, they would have to actually grow up.

It's—well, it's maybe the strangest thing John has ever done, going through his teenaged years for what feels like the second time. The dream was pretty accurate about those years the first time. John still feels all the same hormonal confusion and shit as the first time, except that now he feels it with a forty-three year old mind, which actually makes it worse, somehow. Also, he learns that he breaks out in zits at the slightest provocation, which is kind of really not okay.

Plus, being sixteen years old again means that he's in high school. John's not sure who thought taking one hormonally screwed up individual and sticking him in a building with a thousand other equally hormonal individuals was a good idea, but he's pretty sure whoever it was really needs a retroactive ass kicking. Suddenly, John has to deal with not only losing his rank, respect and place on Atlantis, but also with being informed that he's part of the chess club as well as playing football, and apparently he already asked some girl to the end of the year dance. He adds psychology and physics to his next year's schedule and deals with it.

Rodney, of course, is in high school as well. John knows this because Rodney hates it—they spend a long time on the phone most nights, and every weekend, and Rodney rants on about how he'd forgotten how alienated he was in high school until he had to do it again. Apparently even in the real world, Rodney did build a non-working model of a nuclear bomb when he was twelve, and he's been impressively accelerated ever since. The way things are going now, Rodney and John are going to graduate high school at the same time, despite the two year difference. Rodney keeps saying that John should try to skip a grade as well—he's pretty sure Rodney's pushing to graduate next year, and doesn't doubt his scientist can do it, and also finds the way Rodney wants to go to college with him to be kinda cute—but John doesn't want to stand out, not yet.

(“John, please,” Rodney's voice comes over the phone, “I've added psychology to my course load in order to better understand how dreaming works, which means I'm spending a year learning that—that soft science, just for this. We're both going to have to make a few sacrifices here.” It doesn't have the effect Rodney meant it to, because John has been laughing ever since the word 'psychology' left Rodney's mouth, snarled like a curse along the phone line.)

He finishes the year, and goes to the dance with the girl. John probably shouldn't be surprised that she kisses him during the dance—shouldn't be, but then, John literally never sees this coming, and so he is anyway. For a moment, he doesn't stop the kiss, just sort of feels the way his very teenaged body enjoys it. The thing is, though, John's already done the teenaged thing, and the meaningless sex thing, and the searching for something important thing, and he's done. He's already found his guy. And, yeah, alright, his guy is Canadian and sarcastic and currently way too young for John, but that doesn't change the fact that Rodney is kind of John's favorite person, end of story. He doesn't see the point of starting back at the beginning of the whole romance thing, not when he knows exactly where he wants it to end.

So he ends the kiss, as politely as he can, and steps away. When she asks why, he tells her the truth—that he's already got somebody, that they can be friends but he's set on the dating front. Which is pretty much when she slaps him.

Rodney laughs about that over the phone that night, a higher, more giggly laugh than John's ever heard, and actually won't shut up.

…

John knows his dad doesn't expect him to want to see Rodney that summer. He asks, anyway, and pulls out the full teenaged guilt trip about how his father was the one who signed off on the parental consent forms about the dream that screwed him up this badly when it looks like his father might say no. His dad seems to take Rodney seriously for the first time—not like last time John went, when the whole thing had the feeling of an indulgence. His father calls up Rodney's parents that night, and they talk for a very long time. At the end of the conversation, they've all agreed to swap vacations, with Rodney staying with John and his father over the summer and John staying with Rodney and his family over the Christmas and spring breaks. He's not sure how his father pulled that off, exactly, but he does feel grateful to his dad for the first time.

“You would bring me somewhere dreadfully hot,” is all Rodney has to say about Texas when he gets off the plane. That doesn't stop him from grabbing John into a nearly painful hug and pressing the slightest kiss into John's shoulder before he steps away. Rodney, John notices, shot up a little since John saw him last—he's still smaller and thinner than John remembers, but the braces are gone, and John notices the start of lean muscles along Rodney's arms and shoulders that will build up into Rodney's adult form.

“Hi to you too, buddy,” John says, and pulls his sunglasses off his forehead onto his eyes.

Rodney makes a grabby, familiar gesture with his hands, and John drags a somewhat squished sandwich out of his pocket. “I knew you loved me,” Rodney says smugly, and takes it, unwrapping it immediately. Around his first bite of food, Rodney says, “I don't trust airport food not to poison me, half the time, and I haven't eaten in hours. I'm hypoglycemic, you know.” It comes out a little garbled, but then John's had a lot of time to learn to understand Rodney, so he just laughs and says something teasing in reply and steers Rodney out towards the car.

His father's expression when he meets Rodney is almost as funny as Rodney's parents looked when the situation was reversed. John sits in the back with Rodney and listens to him rant about high school and how he's still a genius at physics even if he's had to relearn some facts that were distorted in the dream and how he apparently still has the muscle memory required to play the piano even if he apparently lacks passion for it. John's father meets John's eyes in the rearview mirror and gives John a look that clearly says, this is who you want? John just smiles in return. Jesus, but he missed Rodney, even if Rodney's hands keep almost hitting him during their expansive gestures in the back seat.

He shows Rodney around that summer, and gets to do stupid teenaged things with him like share an ice cream cone as well as planning for the future and discussing dreams. On Atlantis, there really wasn't much time for relaxing like this—the Wraith tended to show up en masse and try to eat them whenever they got compliant, to say nothing of the Replicators and nano viruses and dangerous technology that showed up every time John and Rodney had a shared day off. John kinda likes this, getting to talk Rodney on to rollercoasters and showing him around his town, like they're normal people just spending time together.

When he returns the favor and goes to Rodney's over Christmas, he can tell Rodney's parents are a bit surprised to see him back, as though they didn't expect John to still want to be around their son after almost a year outside the dream. That doesn't bother Rodney, but it does piss John off. By the time John comes back the year after, though, there are presents for him under the Christmas tree, and eight-year-old Jeannie starts drawing John into the pictures of her family for her art class at school.

“Stop being so charming,” Rodney hisses at him, when Jeannie proudly presents this picture to them. “If my parents accept you they're going to start nagging me about how I found such a nice boy, and shouldn't we start thinking of commitment and children? This is Canada, you know! Gay marriage is going to be legal here by the time we're in our thirties!”

“Rodney,” John says, “you're not even seventeen yet. I think you're safe from the marriage talk for a few more years.”

Rodney just throws his hands in the air and says, “Have you met my parents?”, which is actually a fair point.

…

John flies up to Canada for Rodney's graduation ceremony, because his own was a week earlier and they agreed to have a joint party. Being out of high school, being accepted into the same college as Rodney, and being one step closer to their plans for the future, all make John weirdly excited and jittery on the way over. Dave and his father, who are flying up with him to meet what might as well be the in-laws for the first time, give him weird looks for it, but even that doesn't bother John.

He doesn't have a chance to say anything more than a quick hello to Rodney before the ceremony starts, but he does get to watch Rodney beaming through the entire thing. Whether Rodney is smiling because he, like John, feels their future getting closer, or whether he's smiling because he really hated high school that much and is glad to be free of it, John can't say. Still, Rodney is about a step away from kissing his diploma when it's handed to him, and he does kiss John in front of everyone once the ceremony is over. They started making out again sometime after Rodney turned sixteen last fall, when John could finally quiet the mental freak-outs that Rodney's age had previously caused, and John likes it, likes getting to be this close to Rodney again and likes feeling like they're starting to get back to themselves. Kissing in front of people, John's not so thrilled about, which Rodney knows—but John can feel Rodney's smile against his mouth and can't help kissing back, thoroughly, with tongue. It's kind of worth it to see Rodney's former classmates gawking at them when they separate, even if Rodney's mother looks like she's a minute away from a heart attack.

“You improved my social status immensely,” Rodney informs him on the car ride back to his house. “Not with the homophobes, obviously, but some of the girls actually took me aside and told me that they'd never thought someone like me could have such a hot boyfriend. If I'd known making out with you in public would make people respect me, I would've done it a lot sooner.”

In the theme of never seeing it coming, John is surprised to find Rodney sneaking into the guest room that John's staying in that night. He's glad there's a second guest room that's been given to his father and brother, that he's alone in the space, because Rodney wakes him up from sleeping like the dead by kissing him until John needs to wake up to breathe.

“What?” John asks, still sleep blurry and almost stupidly turned on by the kiss.

Rodney just rolls his eyes and says, “Sheppard. As of today, we are college students, which means you are categorically no longer allowed to be upset by my age. I'm in your bedroom at night, and no one's touched me in two years but myself, so, three guesses as to what I'm doing, and the first two don't count.”

“Oh,” John says, and swallows deeply, “God yes.”

They kiss again, in the dark, and it's wet and sloppy and even better than John remembers, and he only manages to break away to kiss his way down Rodney's neck. The skin feels softer than he remembers, but in most ways it's the same, and Rodney still has to bite back the same low moan as ever when John sucks an earlobe into his mouth, still tilts his head back on reflex when John bites softly down to his collarbones. Rodney's got a shirt on, which seems counterproductive, but John pushes it aside to lick and bite and feel the skin along Rodney's neck and shoulders.

John, who sleeps in boxers and nothing else, gets to feel Rodney's hands playing across completely bare skin, and it's good, it's better than John expected it to be. Rodney still remembers how to touch him, where to press and where to tease, and the feeling of Rodney's hands finally on his chest and back nearly short circuits John's very teenaged libido. Rodney traces the lines of John's shoulder blades and pinches gently at his nipples and draws one hand low across John's stomach, so low that his brain automatically jumps to picturing that hand just a little lower, and they're actually doing this. When John bites a little harder than he meant to in response to that thought, Rodney's hands clench around his hips in mixed encouragement and warning, and John needs more skin.

He pulls away, and Rodney makes a disappointed sound that makes John's fingers twitch with the need to touch him again. “Jesus,” John says, almost involuntarily, and then remembers why he moved and starts tugging at the hem of Rodney's shirt. Rodney gets with the program a few seconds in, and between the two of them they have Rodney's shirt off and thrown to one side with minimal fumbling. John lowers his head again, licking at one of Rodney's nipples, and finds out they're still as sensitive as ever.

Rodney's still a talker, and still bizarrely generous in bed. John knows that playing with Rodney's chest is one of those things guaranteed to have Rodney go from half-hard to full in thirty seconds, and takes full advantage of that, the feel of Rodney's erection hot against his hip only driving him on. Even though John's driving him insane, Rodney never stops touching John, never stops trying to return the pleasure he's receiving with his hands, stroking encouragingly across John's back and bending his head down to kiss John's hair, which is about the only part of John he can reach at this angle. “Yes, yes, John,” Rodney's saying the whole time, and when John pulls up to kiss him Rodney kisses back like it's the most important thing he's ever done. “We're still wearing too much clothing,” Rodney informs him when they break apart, and though kissing makes removing their boxers a little tougher than taking off Rodney's shirt was, they manage it.

The fact that they're naked together kind of floors John, but Rodney manages to work through it. He turns them over, John's back pressed into the bed and Rodney hovering over him, and then, starting at John's jaw, makes his own oral exploration of John's body. John knows where it's going long before it gets there, but doesn't rush Rodney—just feeling Rodney against him, skin on skin and that hot mouth pressed to all his sensitive places, is more than enough. Rodney nips at John's collarbones and sucks a livid bruise into place along the side of John's ribs, the mark dark enough that he'll feel it the next day but placed so that a tee-shirt will cover it easily. He detours back to John's nipples, which aren't nearly as sensitive as Rodney's but still appreciate the warm, wet feeling of Rodney's tongue against them, and then takes time to lick at John's elbows and sharp hip bones and to lightly bite the skin right above John's naval. When Rodney reaches John's cock and just laves over it idly before turning his attention to John's thighs, John finally gives in and whines, “Rodney,” his drawl stretching the name out to something like three syllables.

“Yes, alright,” Rodney agrees, and then dips his head and sucks the tip of John's cock into his mouth. It's—maybe it always felt like this, or maybe the fact that John is eighteen is making it more intense, but the first swipe of Rodney's tongue against him makes something in John's brain just stop working. He moans, probably louder than he should, and tries to thrust upward, only to be stopped by Rodney's hand on his hip. He probably whimpers, too. John really can't help it. Rodney's mouth is hot on him, and the light suction he starts up as he sinks further down is so fucking good that John actually doesn't have words for it. Rodney is inexperienced in this body, mouth not used to this, but he's also enthusiastic and determined, and he's already learned all the things that John likes best, so overall the blow job feels like Rodney is slowly sucking John's thoughts out of his dick. Rodney keeps it mostly slow, relearning an old skill, but his tongue is agile and familiar and so warm that John knows he won't last long. A low choking sound from Rodney freaks him out for a moment, and John starts to lean up to make sure that Rodney's okay, but then Rodney spontaneously relearns the art of deepthroating and, okay, John is fucking gone.

“Fuck, Rodney,” John gets out as warning, and Rodney hums around him and lifts up just a little bit, winding up in just the right place to swallow John's come without it making a mess, which is something John will notice later because right then the whole world feels like it's compressing itself just to his release and Rodney's warm mouth.

He doesn't actually black out, but he thinks it comes pretty close. By the time he can open his eyes again—by the time he realizes he closed them in the first place—Rodney is leaning over him, his expression smug enough that John notices it despite the dark. “C'mere,” John says, and pulls Rodney down to kiss him, tasting himself in Rodney's mouth. That kiss and taste alone are enough that John's dick makes a valiant attempt to harden again, but John's a teenager, not a mutant, and even he can't manage another erection so soon after that. Rodney presses against him, warm and still hard and his, and John snakes a hand down Rodney's side to wrap around his cock.

Rodney gasps into his mouth and thrusts into John's grip. “This won't take long,” he warns, but John just starts moving his hand in the tight, slow strokes Rodney always favored and kisses him harder, because if Rodney can still put two words together than John is doing something wrong. It doesn't take very long, because Rodney has always been almost as turned on by giving blowjobs as John is by getting them, but it does take long enough that John can feel the familiar length of Rodney between his fingers and listen to the noises Rodney always makes when he gets this close. “Fuck,” Rodney's saying into John's ear, voice quiet and almost broken, “yes, John, please, so good, always so good.”

“Shh,” John says into Rodney's hair, and increases the speed of his hand a little when he knows Rodney's getting really close. Three more strokes and then Rodney's pulsing in his hand, moan stifled by John pressing his lips against Rodney's, and warm, sticky come coating John's fingers. John keeps jerking Rodney off through his climax, and only stops when Rodney makes the noise in the back of his throat that means he's starting to get overly sensitive.

John's cock is half-hard again, but he's pretty sure all he wants now is to drag Rodney onto the bed and sleep. Fortunately, Rodney's had the same idea, because he crashes down against John. It's uncomfortable for a second, until they work out elbows and shoulders, and then it becomes stupidly comfortable, Rodney pressed nearly face-down against John's shoulder and John's free arm laying low across Rodney's back. They've nearly drifted off by the time John realizes, “Your parents are probably gonna notice that we slept together tomorrow morning, buddy.” He really doesn't want Rodney to move, but he does want to be able to see him at some point in the next ten years, and while he can do that without Rodney's parents liking him, he'd really prefer to keep things as friendly as they've been.

Rodney just snorts against his shoulder. “How thick do you think these walls are?” Rodney asks. “They probably already know, and I haven't slept in the same bed as you for two years.” He shifts, pressing even closer to John, and kisses his shoulder idly. “Let's just go to sleep.”

“Okay,” John says, and does maybe a minute later.


End file.
